


A Wind to Shake the Stars

by cynicismcatalyst



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9831644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicismcatalyst/pseuds/cynicismcatalyst
Summary: Forging an alliance between Imperial and Republic is no easy feat. Forging an alliance between the two factions with the Eternal Empire suppressing everything both sides do? Easier said than done. Taking the Eternal Throne? Forget it. [A rewrite of the KoTFE/KoTET expansion by including a whole legacy-and then some][ Crossposted from FF.N ]





	1. Prologue

_Dramatis Personae:_

Aretah Drayson: human female, Mandalorian bounty hunter 

Arcann Tirall: human male, Prince to Eternal Throne

Dan’ielle Callaway: human female, Sith Sorcerer

Fathi: mirialan female, Jedi Sage

Ilar’jer: lethan twi’lek female, Jedi Sentinel

Jen’chwuq: sith pureblood female, Imperial Intelligence agent

Käle Callaway: human female, Mandalorian bounty hunter

Koth Vortena: human male, former Zakuulan soldier

Kthira’nn’ath: chiss female, Imperial Intelligence agent 

Lana Beniko: human female, head of Sith Intelligence

Lish’an: twi’lek female, smuggler scoundrel

Nystaha: mirialan female, Havoc Squad commander

Prard’raya’nurudo: chiss female, Sith Juggernaut

Ri’shaval Nirtrayn: zabrak female, Imperial Intelligence agent

Saigra Teenu: zabrak female, Sith Sorcerer

Senkä Callaway: human female, Jedi Shadow/Sith spy

Senya Tirall: human female, Knight of the Eternal Throne

Theron Shan: human male, former SIS

Valkorion: human male, Emperor of the Eternal Throne

Vaylin Tirall: human female, Princess to Eternal Throne

 

* * *

 

 

# Prologue

The Knights stand to attention as the doors slide open, as the Prince walks in.

His footsteps echo and for an instant, he swears Thexan stands beside him (it is Thexan’s rightful place; to walk beside him).

But instead, the Prince kneels before the figure standing at the throne. At the back of the man who chose him as the _stronger_.

“Father. They’ve come.”

Arcann doesn’t dare look up as his father’s voice rumbles through the empty space. “I already know.”

Valkorion doesn’t deign to turn and look at his son (at the sole surviving twin). Instead, his hand touches the console built into the throne. The combined forces of both the Republic and his failed experiment of an Empire approached. Pathetic, all of them---and yet a force to be reckoned with.

The Eternal Fleet would change that. 

 

* * *

 

_The Warrior_

 

“I’ll be back shortly,” Drayan starts, pausing as the door hisses open. At least, she hopes she’d be back shortly, “Have Marr’s crew service the Fury in the meantime.”

Even had the Wrath not been looking to Vette, she would’ve heard the grin in her friend’s voice.

“Your name usually gets us pretty fast service. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Chin up, back straight, strong stride. As befitting the Empire’s Wrath, not some Sith hailing from a heritage-less background. “Captain.”

The captain, Fora, if she recalled correctly, snapped to attention, saluting. “Lady Wrath. Darth Marr awaits you on the bridge. I trust you recall the way?”

“I do. Thank you, Captain.”

Fora stepped to the side as Drayan swept forward, padded boots almost silent on the deck in a stark contrast to the distinct sound of standard issue Imperial boots. Her partner (almost a silent shadow) trailed along two paces behind and a pace to the side.

She remembered the way to the bridge in the way that every flagship carried the same layout. It freed her mind to wander, her senses to seek out familiarity.

She could sense her sponsor, a Sith who clawed up the ranks with nothing but will and wits at her disposal. Her sponsor’s siblings, as well, familiar presences that have a different tang to them. A bounty hunter and a Jedi, if she remembered correctly.

The spy and the Jedi, twin virtuosos with lightsabers (and a bond between the two that ran deeper than anyone would admit).

Even Imperial Intelligence made a presence known (even if Intelligence was but a shadow of its former self) in the shape of a harried operative.

The smuggler from Rishi made a distinct point---as did the Havoc squad commander. How funny, she mused, that they would all stand here as one force.

Before she even turns the last corridor leading to the bridge, she could hear the chatter. Two months ago she would’ve been on her guard; clipped Republic accents mingling with the looser Outer Rim accent of the twi’lek smuggler and the lazy Dromund Kaas accents.

The conversation doesn’t even so much as hiccup in flow as the Wrath and her shadow step in the room. It was a nice change. Sometimes one didn’t need the entire room to stop and salute for every little thing Drayan did.

Instead, one of the conversations came to an end, and a scrawny blue twi’lek glanced her direction, smirk painting violet accented features. “The whole party’s here now. Let’s find out what Marr called all us up for.”

 

* * *

 

_The Inquisitor_

 

The bridge doors hiss open and Dan’ielle strides through, leading a veritable pack of beings from all corners of the universe. Ashara walks at her elbow, and Jaesa hovers closer to the Wrath.

“We received your message, Marr. And… now that I’m here, I _sense_ it, too.”

“We grow closer every moment.” Straight to the point as always. Thank you, Marr. “Our former Emperor is out there.”

The smuggler, Lish’an, interjected, hopping up to a seat on an unused console. “There’s nothin’ out here. I don’t see why he’d run all the way out here. Lotsa rumors about civilizations, but anytime anyone tries to push into it, their ships _don’t come back_.”

“So you’re saying he destroyed an entire planet, and then… ran. Like a _coward_. For what? The guy clearly has power. What’s to stop him from repeating Ziost across the galaxy, planet by planet?” Käle looked visibly uncomfortable at the idea. Even Mandalorian armor couldn’t protect the mind from domination of the kind Vitiate had displayed.

Marr turns from the viewport to face the ragtag bunch assembled behind him. “Either way, if we find him, I believe I can press the Dark Council into line… into going after Vitiate. Can I count on the same from your Republic?”

A pointed question, heavy with years of distrust and war. Havoc’s leader crossed her arms, dark brows tightening under a strict hairline. “I can’t speak for the whole Republic, but Havok will back you.”

“Sir! Sensor contact, fifteen klicks out. It’s small, no lifeform readings, probably a probe.” Scarcely had the tech spoken up did another tech follow up.

“Readings are identical to the forces that attacked Korriban.”

Marr’s commands were immediate. “Raise shields. Pursue and destroy.”

Dan’ielle turned her gaze to the viewport again, critical gaze sweeping the area (though she knew the sensors were better equipped for such a duty). The ship hardly lurched beneath her feet than did an entire fleet emerge from hyperspace, filling the area ahead as far as the eye could see. Formations upon formations of ships… in designs she was unfamiliar with.

“The hell is _that_!” And it didn’t take long for commentary from the smuggler. “Those aren’t anything like what anyone manufactures!”

“Come about, one-hundred-eighty degrees!”

“They’re firing and you wanna charge ‘em? You’re _crazy_!”

The bridge erupts into chaos.

 

* * *

 

_The Smuggler_

 

Go to Rishi. It would be fun, they said. You’ll be fine, they said. You get to be a pirate, they said.

Well, sure, all that happened. What they neglected to mention was the inevitable attack while she was a) stranded on an Imperial flagship, and b) said attackers launching fucking boarding pods at said ship.

Alarms blared, and Lish’an winced. Neither side knew how to make alarms that weren’t…. Alarmy. It’d give her a headache in no time.

“All decks report hostile forces!”

“Yeah, no _shit_.” Lish’an slid off her perch, mentally assessing the group assembled. “Ilar, Fathi, Jen, c’mon. We got boarders to clear out.”

Two twi’leks, a Sith Pureblood who couldn’t use the Force (gods above that was weird and unsettling and just… yeah), and a really… really… fucking tall mirialan.

Ilar’jer (who the hell gave a kid a name like _that_? ash arrow?) took the lead, long legs covering the corridor quickly. “I’ll get the generators. Fathi, I’ll need your backup.”

“I’ll go port, clear out the resistance there.” Jen spoke, clipped Imperial accent startling Lish’an. “If you’d cover my back?”

“It’d be a pleasure, Jen.” Lish’an inhaled, then “ _Let’s move_!”

The four split into two, going their separate ways.

Blaster pistol and rifle held in respective hands, the pureblood and twi’lek make their way down, leapfrogging corridors and watching one another’s backs. “Go high, Jen. I gotta thermal det with their names written all over it.”

Technically they don’t have names. Technically. Lish makes a living off those. In this case, she was making scrap out of droids. Close enough.

_“Get this blast door shut! That shield won’t hold forever.”_

_“We can’t leave them in there !”_

_“We have to hold this ground. We have our job… they have theirs.”_

Ouch. Cold. “Hey, _hey you_ , let us in there.” A grenade bounced in blue fingers, “Seal the blast doors when both me and Red there get back out.”

“Would it kill you to at least use half of my real name?”

“You still answered to it, didn’t ya?” Lish’an shrugged, shouldering past the two arguing soldiers (were they still arguing behind her? she wondered) and ducking through the doorway. “Just get these guys outta here before it gets worse.”

 

* * *

 

_The Knight and The Lover_

 

Ilar is a blur of motion, twin violet blades scything through the boarders--all droids, partially to Fathi’s regret.

Fathi is the silent movement behind Ilar, the Force bending to her will and shielding both her and Ilar from blasterfire. It allowed Ilar to remain fully focused on the offensive, and it struck fear into their foes… or rather, it would, had their foes not been mere droids.

Ah well. Striking awe into the hearts of their allies would have to do.

“The generators are clear, Marr.”

Their comms hissed, crackling with a signal that’s not quite coming through. “ _\--airlock. Repeat, droids have---in the hull---starting t---docking clamps---nd--air---_ ”

Fathi brought a hand up, tapping the earpiece worn to coordinate with the rest of the group. “Did anyone else get a better read on that message?”

“ _Our transports have been sealed to the ship. If we do not free them, we all go down with the ship._ ” Drayan’s firm voice answered, fuzzy through the interference, but understandable. “ _I’ll get them free. Keep the generators from being overrun_.”

“Copy that. Fathi out.”

“Keep the generators safe, huh? _Easy_.” Ah, there it is. An almost vicious gleam in dark eyes (Fathi could swear they’d gone golden some months ago, but yet there they were, as normal).

 

* * *

 

_The Warrior_

Drayan sprinted, her footsteps steady even with the ship shaking beneath her. A conduit blows behind her, washing heat over her back.

Docking level. _Docking level_.

She takes the stairs two at a time, not trusting the lifts when the ship was barely holding together as it was. Lightsaber made short work of debris in her path, edges still burning white-orange as she leapt through.

Another explosion rocked the ship, momentarily rocking the warrior’s balance; and rather than fight to regain it, Drayan throws herself into a roll, catapulting back into motion.

Gloved hand slaps the panel as she darts past, entire posture shifting to slow. She can see the viewport---the ships and their crews beyond.

“The docking clamps are loose. _Quinn_ , coordinate everyone. Try to get as many people out as possible.”

The Fury breaks free first, Vette at the helm, Quinn strapped into the co-pilot’s seat as he opens a comms channel to the handful of other ships. “Fury hailing the Alliance, please check in.”

Marr’s voice broke through, overriding Drayan’s feed of the external coordination. “ _The enemy has breached the engineering deck in search of the primary generators. Meet me there_.”

A grim smile made its way onto Drayan’s face as she turned from the viewport. “Saig, meet me in Engineering with Marr. Ilar, Fathi, be ready; we’re coming in hot.”

“ _I hope you don’t mind company--it’s getting pretty spacey over aft._ ” Lish’an chimed in.

 

* * *

 

_The Failure_

 

If there was one thing in the world Jen hated, it was having to deal with a practical army of droids. Neither hers nor Lish’an’s stealth belts could get them past, and they had to resort to fighting them. Unfortunate that the two of them weren’t wearing envirosuits, either--she would much rather blow a section of the hull out and let space deal with the damned things.

“Lish’an. Do you have any more of your smoke grenades?”

“Mmm, a couple. Why, you think we can use ‘em on the last chunk o’ droids here?”

“Yes. Pass them over.”

“You take all the _fun_ outta things, Red.”

“I’d rather we make it out in one piece.”

Surprisingly enough, the twi’lek doesn’t grumble any further as a pair of smoke grenades are palmed over to the pureblood. Bouncing one in her palm experimentally, Jen touched her stealth belt. “Let’s go.”

The first corner they turned brought them nearly face to face with patrolling skytroopers. There was no avoiding this; Jen pocketed the smoke grenade and lunged forward, her stealth generator shutting down mid-flight. Before either droid raised their weapon to firing position, Jen had jammed her knife into the delicate internals of one, and Lish’an was beating the other to the ground with the butt of her scattergun.

The scattergun shot echoed unnaturally loud with nothing but a creaking ship echoing in their ears. The alarms had shut down in this section, as had the air circulation.

“We should probably get a move on, Red. It’s too quiet here; got a bad feeling about it.”

Lish’an was right. “The stealth belts are going to hamper our progress. Let’s just deal with the skytroopers as we cross their paths.”

“Fine by me. Their armor doesn’t hold up too well to scattergun pellets.” The smuggler grinned, cradling the weapon in her arms as if it were a baby (a mannerism no doubt learned from her husband, Jen guessed).

By the time they reached the main generators, there were no more skytroopers barring paths… but the ship was beginning to fragment.

“Look, Marr. We can get the shields back up, but hell if they aren’t going back down again in a handful of seconds. Look at the generator; it’s falling apart!”

“Not to mention the hyperdrive’s shot.” Jen added, grimacing at her choice in words. Lish’an was rubbing off on her. _Again_.

Comms sputter to life on a nearby console. “ _Enemies on the bridge! I repeat, enemies on th--_ ”

Static.

“There are rudimentary backup controls here,” Marr begins, “but the enemy ships have us surrounded. There are few options left to us.”

Lish’an reached up, flicking an array of switches. “All hands, abandon ship. I repeat, all hands, abandon ship.”  Her voice was tinny over the remaining loudspeakers, but the message was clear. “That means us too. Red, Ilar, Fathi, we need to find the others. Corso can catch pods off the safe side of the ship.”

 

* * *

_The Hunter_

 

“Käle here. Dan’s holding the path from engineering open and safe. But you guys need to hurry--she’s strainin’ here.” She wasn’t so worried about the explosive decompression; her _beskar’gam_ was airtight and rated for a good chunk of time in vacuum. But the rest of the committee? Not so much. Her oldest sister, Dan, was in robes, and Senkä’s battle armor wasn’t rated for vacuum.

Nystaha’s voice came over the comms, the soldier having been quiet until now. “ _I’ve got the pods clear and ready to go. They’re not launching without a full load of people, but the ship’s coming apart faster than people are making it down here_.”

“ _Dray, Saigra, and Marr are holding the generators. They’ll be coming once they lock in a course for the enemy fleet_.”

“ _For a smuggler, you’re_ awfully _optimistic_.”

“ _C’mon, Red, I get my hopes destroyed on a daily basis. A girl’s gotta cope_.”

Käle blinked, pinpointing positions through her HUD, tracking the remaining crewmembers as they checked in, tracking the multi-faction alliance of theirs.

“ _Pod one is away_!”

Käle blinked again, adding the pod transponders to her tracking. “And pod one’s been swept up by one of ours.”

Cheers blanket the comms for a moment, and the ship shakes underneath them as it accelerates toward the enemy fleet.

“ _Jen checking in; the group from the generators---minus Dray, Marr, and Saig---have made it to the pods_.”

“ _Pods two and three away_!”

“Sen, go. Dan can hold the ship for a few more minutes. I’ll take the last pod with the Major.”

“ _Käle---_ ”

“ _Go,_ Sen!”

“ _Pod four away_!”

“Pods two and three have made it to safety.”

Käle kept her face impassive, even hidden behind the emotionless visor as it was. She’d ordered one sister to the escape pods, and she felt like she was condemning the other one.

Senkä swept past, refusing to so much as look at Käle. And she deserved that.

Deserved it for being _pragmatic_.

“ _Pod five away_!”

“Fury’s jumping! Bay is at capacity and they’re taking fire. Pod five’s been hit. Transponder’s out; I can’t track them.” It’s almost an information overload, but this is where Käle feels alive. Each and every mark on the map lets her coordinate the evacuation. “XS Freighter jumping as well, lost a sublight nacelle and can’t risk the shields taking any more hits.”

“ _Pod six away_!”

“That’s the surviving crew. Nys, take pod seven, I’ll meet you there. Dan, Marr, Drayan, Saigra, you need to hurry. Pods eight through ten, and pod fifteen, are still intact. See you on the flip side. Käle out.”

She almost dismisses the HUD, decides against it. Better to keep an eye on who was left as she turned, shoving off the bulkhead as the artigrav fails completely.

She carefully kicks off the jetpack, burning just enough fuel to boost her down the fragmenting corridor to the escape pods (she can see other corridors through the bulkheads now and it makes her nervous).

Käle cuts the jets as she swings around the corner, redirecting her momentum to launch herself into the waiting escape pod.

“Pod seven at capacity, launching.”

 

* * *

 

_The Inquisitor_

The Imperial flagship doesn’t make it to the attacking fleet.

Dan’ielle screams, dimly aware that it _was_ , in fact, her voice, her will crumbling under the sheer effort it was taking to keep the ship from falling in two. Fuel tanks detonate, shaking the structure to the core, setting off a series of micro explosions that run through the weakest points in the bulkheads.

“ _Lady Callaway, we’re on our way, get ready to run_!” 

She doesn’t answer. Can’t spare the focus to answer. The ship is beginning to separate despite all her efforts, despite her strength in the Force.

A door slams shut in front of her, sealing the section of corridor off from the rest of the ship.

“ _We’re across the gap. You can release your hold. We’ll meet you at the pods._ ”

Slowly, as if afraid her effort will snap back and flatten her if she lets go immediately, the Sith eases her Force grip on the fragmenting half of the ship---and the half they stand in shudders again as its skeleton is rent in two.

Dan exhaled, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d drawn back in, nor held. Only then does she turn, reaching out to the Force with a weary mind, seeking both relief and the presences of her protege and said protege’s company.

“I’m on my way.”

  
The wreckage shuddered again, followed by the deafening screech of rendered durasteel.

“ _Fuck_.” The singular word sounded strange spoken in Drayan’s clipped and pronounced Basic, but the inflection spoke nothing good. “ _The pods just sheared off_.”

Dan grimaced. The Empire would lose two of their Council members and their Empire’s Wrath if they went down with the ship. Unfortunately, unless they could get into one of the attacking ships (very unlikely), that was to be the case. “Get the rest of the ships out if they haven’t jumped. Anything small enough to get us out of here’s already taken too many hits.”

Lish’an’s freighter, the Furies, even Käle’s junk heap, all of them jumped already.

“And hope that help will make it here before we lose what little life support we have left.”


	2. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've got to the carbonite freezing! I'm working out the best way to handle the Dream of Empire sequence since Valkorion's only taking a single host here---and we have three frozen and a whole cast in the wings.

* * *

 

_The Inquisitor_

 

The ship is silent, only the hums of air circulators creating a monotony. No creaks of durasteel stressed and shattered, nor the hollow thud of a heartbeat in her ears. She doesn’t hear the rasp of her body straining for air in an atmosphere that was no longer tenable--and hadn’t  been for hours. 

Daring to open her eyes, Dan’ielle squints against the dim lighting, vision blurring as it tries to adjust to the light in… wherever she was. 

A bunk room. 

Drayan’s white and gold dress uniform, contrasting strongly enough against the blue of her skin, was the first person Dan picked out. 

It’s when she tries to sit up that she realizes--her wrists are in binders. Clearly whomever picked them up was not friendly to any of them. 

“Good to see you awake.” Drayan murmured, and as Dan blinked, she cleared her vision, resolving the muddied figure into that of the Juggernaut sitting calm and collected on the bunk opposing her own.

 “Saigra’s above my bunk, but I don’t know where they’ve taken Marr.” 

As if on cue, a muffled groan from the bunk above Drayan, and booted feet kick out first, followed by the rest of a robed zabrak. 

Drayan shook her head, remarking dryly, “Very graceful.” 

The door hisses open at the far end of the room, drawing all eyes to it. 

Dan’s brow furrows, and the figure that strode through became easy to pick out, but unfamiliar in entirety. Guards follow, presumably both for his protection, and to keep the three of them in line. 

He speaks two words; “Come along.” 

When not a one of them makes a move, a guard steps forward, sharply jabbing Dan’ielle in the side. She relents, carefully getting to her feet and reaching for the Force to balance herself--only to find that it was absent to her. 

She’d spent long enough assessing her own body that she hadn’t thought to reach out and make sure she had all her capabilities at her disposal. 

They are marched down the hall as prisoners, and Dan clenches her hands, forcing her posture to mimic that of Drayan’s. Chin up, back straight, shoulders back. She will not let this remind her any further of being a _slave_. She was Sith, not a slave. Not anymore. 

Marr was pulled from a cell (she recognized now what they were, well furnished cells) opposing theirs, immediately casting a pointed look at the man standing between the two groups. The scarred and half-masked one.

 “What “empire” have we entered?”

 So Marr had gotten more words out of the half-masked man than the three of them had. Dan’ielle holds her silence, intrigued by the choice of words. An empire---an empire that was not _theirs_.

 So it’s when the other speaks that Dan listens intently, “The Eternal Empire. Zakuul. You didn’t even know whose territory you were invading?”

 “We didn’t “invade” anything.” Saigra begins, voice striking out in the moment of silence from beside the Wrath. “We were _looking_ for someone.”

 “In an _armed warship_?”

 “I wouldn’t consider that someone a _friend_.”

 The man turns, begins walking briskly down the corridor. The guards give the four prisoners no choice but to follow along.

 “And _what_ do you hope to achieve by taking us prisoner?” Marr spoke again. Really, he was being quite talkative for someone in his position---and for someone with his disposition.

 “I have questions. You will provide answers.”

 “You assume we will break under pressure. I’d hate to prove you wrong.” Drayan’s smile was evident in her voice, even if it never broke through to her features.

 “I don’t need you to speak to get my answers from you.”

 

* * *

 

_The Warrior_

 

From flagship to flagship to shuttle. The last standard day’s been a mess, and they were no closer to gaining answers. And here they stand, still clad in binders, still being pushed down corridors. 

To what destination? 

Turning her gaze to the viewports (an ostentatious display of wealth, this corridor. more transparisteel than durasteel), she scanned the stars, searching for familiar constellations. Looking for something that should point toward home. 

Instead, all pointed toward somewhere new, somewhere unexplored by the Empire. Something that had not been on star charts before.

 Guards stood at each durasteel column, saber-pikes active and humming (filling the air with the sharp stench of ozone), and yet stock still.

 The masked man’s voice broke her reverie, “We recovered the records from your ship’s computers--or what was left of them. Fascinating reading. You,” he motions at Dan’ielle, easily Marr’s height, “a former slave rising to a seat of power.”

 He turned to fix Drayan with a steely look, “And a child cast out from home becoming the Empire’s Wrath. A warrior from _your_ species, in such a capacity….”

 Footsteps hurrying down the corridor broke the man from his musings. An older man, gold and black clad and unnaturally colored eyes (and he bowed before their captor; clearly their captor was someone important). 

“Prince Arcann.”

 Ah, so now she has a _name_ to the face. A prince, and yet an empire. Must be an empire that loves their royal titles.

 “ _Heskal_.” A name spat with venom, “Still waiting for the _catastrophe_ you and your Scions foretold?”

 “You may close your ears to the whispers of fate, my prince, but they cannot be silenced.”

 “I wonder if silencing _you_ might suffice.” Arcann stepped forward, practically getting into Heskal’s face, but his voice did not raise so much as a decibel. “Take your superstitions _elsewhere_. You are not needed here.”

 It is in silence that they proceed the rest of the way to the throne room.

 

* * *

 

_The Deathspeaker_

 

The throne room is tall, designed in a way that was meant to make everyone within feel small.

 It reminded her of days of slavery. 

If she peered over the edge (the edge that the soldiers were standing precariously next to), she would see a long drop into what seemed to be nothingness. The entirety of the throne room, save for the bridge and the throne itself, seemed to be made of transparisteel.

 Beside her walks Drayan, head high (though no taller than Saigra herself is). Ahead, to her left, is Marr, and Dan’ielle to Marr’s right (just a pace to the side of directly in front of Saigra).

 In the lead, Arcann knelt before the throne, declaring a rather longwinded list of titles simply to introduce Vitiate.

 “His Glorious Majesty, Imperial Master and Protector of Zakuul, Emperor Valkorion.”

 The first word out of Valkorion’s mouth sent a chill down her spine.

 “Welcome.”

 She can hear Marr draw breath before he spoke; steadfast and certain, “A new name, a new face… these are not enough to hide from us, Vitiate.”

 “Are your people aware of who you really are? What you’ve done?” begins Dan’ielle, shuffling her stance as she speaks, “Of what you’re _capable_ of?”

 Of Ziost and the loss as Vitiate took the lives of _everything_ on the planet. Not even the grass remained. Saigra remembered how it crunched under her boots, how the air had smelled clinical and sterile… it was an empty planet.

 “Your constant silence across our history; this was your _distraction_?” Marr again, expressing surprise one never heard from a Sith such as he.

 Valkorion’s smile played ever so subtly across his face as he corrected Marr. “My focus. Everything else, a means to an end. You claim to have come all this way to find me. Here I am. What do you want?”

 “To destroy you.”

 It was a nice sentiment, while it lasted. The Emperor was thought dead twice now; once as he disappeared from all interactions with the Empire, and again when the Hero of Tython destroyed what all thought to be him. Turns out that the Emperor is still not dead.

 Vitiate---Valkorion… laughed. “You say you know me. If that is true, then you know the depths of my power. Whatever you hoped to achieve here, you know, deep inside, that you _cannot_ succeed. But you do not have to stand against me. Instead….” he motions with a hand, Marr’s cuffs sparking, “you can kneel.”

 Marr steps forward, raising his voice, “I will never again kneel to you!”

 “You would sooner die than acknowledge my superiority?”

 Saigra shivered. That was a line she has heard in millions of different ways, many different voices… all meant the same, all asked the same. To kneel, to give up who you were, to survive by someone else’s whims and to hope that the blood and sweat offered were enough to keep you alive for the next day.

 “It is you who fears death, Valkorion! I do not; I _will not kneel_!” Even as Marr speaks, declaring his independence from an Emperor who had reigned too long, his hand is flashing out, shoving the closest of the guards away, summoning saberpike to hand---and immediately throwing it to the next guard.

 Saigra twists, stepping aside to watch the carnage (hands bound and Force silenced, it made it rather… difficult… to actually help). She raises a brow, Marr’s thrown pike _impaling_ the Knight even through their armor. The next to run at him was blown off the edge, a scream cutting off shortly as he lands with a boneshattering crunch at the bottom of the throne room.

 She smells it almost before it strikes, Valkorion’s lightning leaving her flash-blinded. Bolts arc, and Marr doesn’t so much as grunt as he’s struck, thrown---Saigra questions if he still lived. No one Sith summons lightning on that scale without the intent to kill.

 And as Marr’s body rolls to the ground, someone else’s voice cuts through the sudden silence. “Clear the room! Everyone _out_!”

 It was haughty, the voice of someone who expected her every command to be answered immediately---and unsurprisingly, it was obeyed, the remaining Knights filing out of the throne room (some dragging the wounded and dead behind them).

 Drayan stepped forward, angling her shoulder toward Valkorion. It wouldn’t make a difference if he tried to attack her, but Saigra knew her partner. It made Drayan feel better. “You’ve already killed more people than we could all count. Is one more supposed to deter us?”

 

* * *

 

_The Inquisitor_

 

Valkorion steps forward. It takes a considerable amount of _will_ not to step back, if only for the sheer magnitude of his physical presence. And yet, Dan’ielle finds herself on even ground with the so-called Emperor of Zakuul.

 “No. In all my centuries, you three alone have merited my full attention. You leave your mark on the galaxy wherever you go… just as I do. Look around you; Zakuul is poised to become one of the greatest civilizations in the _history_ of the galaxy. I have forged this empire to surmount all my previous works. To span _eternity_.”

 Had her wrists been free, Dan would’ve crossed her arms… though freedom would also merit an attempt at taking Vitiate--Valkorion’s life once more. Instead, she consigns herself to sighing as he continues his monologue.

 “The Eternal Throne commands a fleet more vast than any ever built. It has the power to reshape the galaxy into any image that I choose. That _we_ choose. I will share all of this… with you, if you will only _kneel_.” Marr extends his hand, palm up and fingers out... inviting.

 She wonders… had Marr’s answer not been enough for him? Did he think that, perhaps, they would change their minds over the death of one of their compatriots?

 “I’ve seen what you do. I’ve seen your power. I also know who you are; sharing is not in your _nature_.” Valkorion only wants a slave, a puppet, someone he can pull on strings about the Empire he abandoned. “I will not join you.”

 Behind her, she hears Drayan shift, sees the chiss in her peripheral… and to her other side, Saigra. They’d stand united in the face of this threat.

 Besides, even if they didn’t make it out, their crews would have.

 “So be it.” His hand drops, and the Emperor turns his back, only pausing briefly to nod to Arcann… who had stood still and silent during the entire exchange.

 Yellow blade ignites as the Prince stalks toward the three Sith. An odd color, Dan reflects, but she would rather hope it wasn’t the color of their death.

 Arcann leans in, saber held high and ready to strike, “You came here to defeat him… _now’s your chance_.”

 Her brow furrows, and she clenches her hands together. Either she trusts him, or she tries to dodge a killing blow and draw out the inevitable. It wasn’t a difficult choice.

 The blade swings down, slicing cleanly through the restrains. It’s a rush as the Force comes back, and she draws upon it like it was water to a parched mouth. Saber flies to her hand as Arcann lunges for his father, swinging with the intent to take him.

 “First your brother, now your father?” Valkorion asks, blocking Arcann’s blows with merely his hand.

 “Does my _ambition_ truly surprise you?”

 Dan’ielle slipped forward, trusting that Valkorion’s presence was solely on his son. She couldn’t risk freeing Saigra or Drayan, not without alerting Valkorion… and losing this chance.

 The Emperor strikes forward with a blast so similar to the one he’d used to kill Marr… but it wasn’t nearly so strong. “It is not _ambition_ that motivates you… only _jealousy_. That is why you fail.”

 A violet blade springs free from its emitter, emerging from Valkorion’s chest, illuminating the shocked expression on his face.

 Yet, even as he dies, he laughs, an eerie sound that somehow permeated the entire area. Dan’ielle backpedals, not wanting to be caught in the destruction that the death of a strong Force user steeped in darkness could bring. Even so, even with the distance she placed between herself and his falling body, the blast knocked her back (knocked all three of them back), tumbling to the ground with enough force to dizzy her.

 

* * *

 

As Arcann levers himself to his feet, Vaylin returns to the throne room, two Knights of Zakuul in tow. “This Outlander has assassinated our Emperor. Take her away. Take them _all_ away.”

 Arcann turns his back to the fallen Sith, ascending to the throne, accessing the controls.

 All around Zakuul, holodisplays spring to life, projecting the image of Arcann high above the crowds, calling attention away from day-to-day life to the Prince.

 “People of Zakuul…. The unthinkable has happened. Our beloved Emperor, Valkorion, is dead, murdered by an Outlander who sought to shake the foundations of our great society.”

 Guards stoop, picking up each one of the Sith carefully, half dragging them out of the throne room.

 “The assassin will recieve swift and just punishment. This act of unprovoked aggression will be answered. As your new Emperor, I can promise you this: Zakuul’s enemies will face the full power of the Eternal Throne. They will answer for their warmongering ways.”

 Carbonite chambers are prepared for three bodies, for three prisoners, upon their arrival to the cells.

 “And every last one of the Core Worlds will _burn_.”

The carbonite machinery hisses, sealing the three Imperials in their metal cages.


	3. A Dream of Empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frozen in carbonite for five years, Dan'ielle has to come to terms with the fact that she has one more ghost in her mind---though this one is uninvited and unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got that dream sequence completed. Valkorion, as usual, is more of a creep than absolutely necessary, and also seems to have anchored himself in our main Inquisitor's mind.

* * *

 

_The Inquisitor_

 

The landscape is cold, empty, the disintegrating ships in the sky forever frozen. Fire licked at fallen debris, moving in slow motion--giving no heat. 

It was if the heat of her very body was being siphoned away, and Dan’ielle wrapped her arms around herself. 

It is eternity, yet seconds, that pass before she dares step forward. 

“I have always loved the stars.” Valkorion’s voice, unexpected and unwelcome, broke into her state of mind. 

“You don’t belong here, Vitiate. I killed you--and I chose to let your spirit flee. I _did not take you in_.” And yet here he was, unruffled by her frustration, ignoring the other ghosts tightly under control in the Inquisitor’s head. They would serve as warning had Valkorion not already ignored and dismissed them. 

It only seemed to amuse the former Emperor, “You have such a collection of spirits… and yet you don’t seek to add another? To call you Sith… is to ignore your true self. I followed you here so that we might speak undisturbed.” 

“If by undisturbed, you’re comfortable having five other spirits as an audience, but would not speak of this when we stood face to face… if by undisturbed you mean walking into a mind that is not yours. You _do not_ \---I gave you no permission to be here.”

 Rather than retort, Valkorion walks… or perhaps he drifts (such is the nature of her mind… or what is left of it, in this bleak place) forward, motioning toward figures in the distance. Her crew.

 Her love. 

“Your acolytes… rungs on the ladder of your ascent. Lesser beings that you should no longer keep with you, about you… the ageless fiend,”

  _Khem Val. Her loyal protector and companion._

 “An embittered pirate,”

  _A man she trusted with her life, and her heart._

 “An impure Jedi,”

  _Her apprentice. The closest thing to a true daughter she had._

 “Your…. worshipful academic.”

  _Talos… the man she could spend hours conversing over a set of ancient runes… and a good friend._

 “And a bloodthirsty zealot.”

  _Her apprentice, once more. Someone snatched from the clutches of Korriban’s academy, someone she was hoping to mold into a loyal Sith… one who would think before acting on impulse._

 “They outlived their purpose long ago, and yet you allow them to live.”

 Turning to face Valkorion, Dan pursed her lips, rather unsure of what he was getting at. First he states that calling her ‘sith’ would be ignoring who she was, and now… he questions her. Questions who she was at her core. “I’m not yet in the habit of _murdering_ those I---love. Call me sentimental.”

 “Love…. withers when it is neglected. Left alone too long, love will,” Valkorion pauses, dipping his head as if to hide a glint in his eyes, “seek another.”

 “Each day they drift further out of reach,” continues the former Emperor. “Without a center to hold… without us… the galaxy and all within spiral into chaos.”

 “The galaxy survived long enough without you or I. It will manage alone for a little longer.” Now if only she could rid herself of his presence within her mind on the here and now. At least it would give her some peace and quiet, even though her body remains encased in carbonite.

 Dan staggered, falling to a knee before she steadies herself (violet robes swirl, threatening to strangle her and she forces it down even as the whole galaxy flickers past her eyes).

 And only then does Valkorion reveal the one thing Dan’ielle was even remotely interested in. “The carbon freezing was imperfect. Your body is poisoned, dying. Old foes have come to _take your life._ ”

 She only shakes her head, snorting. Yes, she could already sense it playing havoc with her body, with her physical form, but this was her mind. Her old foes were dead. They had died by her hand. “What makes you think they’ll even have a chance to kill me? They’re _dead_.”

 Before she so much as lets Vitiate… Valkorion speak again, she straightened, lunging awkwardly off the side of the cliff they’d stood atop, her violet blade twisting and wavering in hand.

 Thanaton and Zash meet the blade first, or rather, weak spectres of who they’d once been. Her blade slices clean through Zash, and lightning incapacitates… then dissolves Thanaton.

 Harkon stands oh so briefly in her path, and she doesn’t even bother, her hand planting on his chest--pushing through. Destroying what the spectre called a heart.

 “Is _this_ what you meant, Vitiate?” Her voice carries with an ethereal echo, anger twisting lightning bolts across the otherwise frozen sky. “Shades of a past I no longer _fear_?”

 Echoes of her memories, twisted by fears that have long since been quashed.

 “The old ways held you back.” Valkorion begins again, and Dan represses a grimace. It was bad enough she had to deal with her mind trapped, her body suspended somewhere between life and death… but his prattling never seemed to cease atop that. “You’ve barely tapped your true potential. It is time you are _unleashed_.”

 “Do _not_ ,” She turns, lightsaber slashing through the space Valkorion had just been occupying, a snarl etched on her face, “presume to _know_ me.”

 Valkorion leaves her in peace save for a fading hint of his laughter… and even that vanished soon enough.

 Alone with her thoughts, alone with the sense of time that didn’t quite match up.

 She thinks her mind is playing tricks on her when she sees Dromund Kaas in the distance, red and black proudly flying, the rain beginning to patter down on her shoulders and the ground… the sky turning grey, then black, overtaken by stormclouds and the rumble of thunder. The wind picks up, pulls at her hair and her robes, and Dan only grins, lifts her face up to the wind.

 This is home… except that it isn’t.

 Her smile fades as she opens her eyes again to find herself standing amid ruins, smoke rising from the buildings, the Imperial flag in scorched tatters.

 Lightning strikes, bringing with it the rumble of thunder, even as the air goes still.

 “Our failed Empire.” Valkorion’s voice followed the trailing edge of the thunder, “You were always superior to the murderous fools in charge here. You sat on the Dark Council, but you never belonged with _petty tyrants_.”

 “The Empire was changing for the better, Valkorion. Something you would never have seen with your preoccupation with Zakuul. This--” she sweeps her hand out, motioning toward the carnage, “is not our Empire. It is not even _my_ Empire.”

 “So it brings you no pain to watch what has happened? Imperial Intelligence, the Dark Council, even the Mandalorians… all fall. All fail. You alone… you alone found victory.”

 She does not humor Valkorion further, choosing instead to remain silent. She sees the crumbling architecture and turns her back on that, even.

 And it’s because of this that she does not notice Valkorion vanishing, only coming to realize as it feels as her breath is driven out of her body. As she is forced to her knees before the figures of Imperial soldiers, Valkorion speaks. “They want someone to blame for the fall of the Empire. They choose you. The Empire…. Republic… both fall before the Eternal Empire. Kneel. Save yourself. You cannot stop what is to come.”

 Dan struggles to keep her eyes open as the blackness envelops her, inky dark so thick and heavy she felt as if drowning.

 “Ziost….” Valkorion’s voice broke through the black, whispering and slithering around Dan, and the Sith involuntarily shivered.

“The planet you slaughtered--down to the very last blade of grass.”

 “They died opening my eyes to the truth. I have passed beyond death’s reach.”

 She hasn’t felt that knot in her throat since Zash’s death---since the binding of her first ghost. A feeling something was horribly wrong and that it would take more than her _frustration_ to free herself. “Immortality has been sought by many over the years. What makes you the exception?”

 What makes _him_ the one exception, trapping her with his spirit echoing in her mind. Echoing in the ruins that was her mind.

 She could not see him; made it a point not to see him, and yet the sheer smugness radiated off Valkorion as surely as if the expression was in front of her very eyes. “ _I_ am not held back by ancient teachings. By the teachings of the failures, the fallen before us. Our flesh is not who we are. Voices, hands, children… I no longer need these crude vessels. I have transcended them. At long last… I am truly free.”

 Dan’ielle stares at him, her brows arched in pure confusion, “And when the carbonite poisoning kills me? Will you still be so free?” After all, it was _her_ mind he was in. Her mind, her body. Her dying form.

 “Perhaps…. But that is not my intention---I have done what I can to preserve your body… but you must do the rest.”

 The Inquisitor scoffs at him, “Now why would you do that? The last I heard, you tried to _kill_ me.”

 “You are a part of me I wish to keep.”

 At this, she waves a hand through the space Valkorion would be occupying had he made himself visible to her again. “I wish to keep no part of you… nor be considered part of you.”

 Yet even as she spoke, she felt herself forced to her knees, the blackness of earlier threatening to engulf her again. She would scream, but her throat had gone hoarse, words sticking before she can summon them out.

 Her mind was actively fighting her; she blamed Valkorion’s intrusion.

 “I cannot save you unless you want to live.”

 Fists clench in the dirt, nails scraping against the rock below the thin layer, “I do not… ask for your help. I do not _want_ it.”

  _There is no peace, but passion. Through passion, strength, through strength, power._

 She snarls, forcing herself up even through the weight on her shoulders, on her back, the staggering pain in her legs.

  _Through power, victory. Through victory… freedom._

 “We must deal with my errant son and daughter before they ruin everything.”

 “ ‘We’, Valkorion? There is no ‘we’. They are your spawn,” she has to stop, catch her breath, steady herself on legs that burn, “and your mistakes. This, even, is because of you. Get _out of my head._ ”

 Before Dan’ielle gathered her strength together, before she had a chance to free herself of this errant Emperor, pain lanced through her chest--an agony far sharper than anything she’d ever endured before. “ _Bastard_!”

 “You are dying…. and we are being reborn.”


	4. The Outlander: Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years have passed. Empire and Republic strain under Zakuul's yoke... and Lana has located the beginnings of a new resistance; an Alliance.

* * *

 

_The Advisor_

 

Steam hisses around the platform, filling the chamber with more humidity than actually necessary. Must be Arcann’s particular brand of grandstanding.

 Lana wrinkled her nose, carrying herself forward in as much silence as she could muster. Her boots hardly made a sound, and yet still too loud for the Minister of Intelligence.

 Golden eyes sweep the area, the Force following her movements. There… encased in carbonite. Three chambers, three Sith. The Outlanders.

 Emperor-killers.

 The very people she sought.

 Her hand brushes a console, entering a code torn from the Zakuulan security systems… and with a hiss of melting metal filled the air. Carbonite freezing, she’d heard, was not a pleasant thing to go through, and so was the thawing.

 The first fell from the chamber, dark hair in disarray and a once-proud form Lana recognized… hunched over in agony. “Don’t try to move, Lady. You’re dying. I may… have your cure, but I’m not going to lie… this _will_ hurt.”

 She’d been afraid of this; carbonite poisoning affected some people differently than others, and Lana thanked the stars that she’d brought something for it.

 Dan’ielle’s anguished cries broke through the momentary silence as the chemical cocktails rushed through her system, burning out the remaining traces of carbonite.

 Lana didn’t stand idle for long, moving to check on the other two that had been imprisoned with the Lady Nox. A chiss still clad in formal whites and golds (the Wrath, reminded herself), and the zabrak always at the chiss’s side. Lady…. Well, Lana had to admit, even her careful research hadn’t unearthed the name of the zabraki Sith. She would simply need to refer to her as Lady for the time being.

 Swinging a satchel off her back, Lana knelt, pulling three lightsabers and three belts full of equipment free. “Gear up. We don’t have much time.”

 Behind her, a T7 droid whistled, rolling across to an access panel.

 “Is that a Republic model?” she heard the Lady Wrath ask, and Lana nodded.

 “Tee-seven-oh-one. He agreed to help in the rescue.”

 “Not much of a crew,” added Lady Nox, flicking her lightsaber active for a moment to ensure it still functioned as it should.

 Lana tipped her head, acknowledging the comment with the faintest hint of a smile, “Yes, well, it’s the best I could manage. It will do.”

 Tee-seven whistled again, alerting the group of four to the incoming Zakuul guards.

 “I’ll fill you in on the move.”

 Scarcely had Lana turned did the doors hiss open, skytroopers advancing at a rapid clip. Lightsabers flare to life in their owners’ hands, three red blades and one violet one.

 Between swings, Lana advanced, speaking quickly, “The Empire and Republic have all but fallen to the man who imprisoned you. You’re our last hope.” Perhaps their only hope. Funny, how things worked out--though Lana Beniko was not one to stand in the full light, preferring to follow in the footsteps of another.

 “So the galaxy’s last hope is three Sith. I shudder to hear how badly it’s fallen apart.”

 Drayan leapt forward, the Force propelling her lithe body into the nearest skytrooper. Lightsaber cuts through the chassis, and Lana tears her attention away in order to turn, watch their backs as Drayan and Dan tear through the frontline.

* * *

 

_The Warrior_

 

The carbonite poisoning lingered, a sick feeling deep in Drayan’s stomach, made worse by the sudden momentum. It doesn’t stop her. She doesn’t have time to afford to be _sick_.

 Vaylin’s droids were flooding the corridors now, pressing in against the four of them and meeting swift ends by lightsaber or by brute force. One hand thrust forward, launching a droid (or rather, its head) free, smashing through transparisteel as the body fell on its comrades. Behind her, lightning crackled, arcing from droid to droid even as the Force hissed around them.

 Drayan’s boots kicked aside pieces of skytroopers as she advanced, fine hairs on her arms raising as Saigra’s usage of the Force flowed around the chiss warrior.

 They kept coming.

 She doesn’t know how long they fought, her training pushing her into a narrow-viewed _focus_ ; forward. Forward, forward, until there were no more droids charging at them, only a sealed door.

 “Tee-seven’s generating false security alerts in other sectors. The skytroopers shouldn’t be a problem for a few moments.” Lana stated, her voice breaking the monotonous hum of four lightsabers.

 Drayan nodded, closing her eyes as the carbonite sickness catches up to her. Being hyperaware of every little thing was grating on her, and the tunnel vision of not two minutes ago had been a boon.

 To her side, she saw Dan’ielle stride past, the Force gathering about her like a storm, “I’ve got the door.”

 Lana’s comm unit pinged, interrupting whatever she might have been about to say. “Yes, I read you.”

 “ _An updated timetable would be good_ ,”

 “Why, is there a problem?”

 “ _No, no problem…. But we are starting to feel a bit exposed out here. You find our Outlanders yet?_ ”

 Reopening her eyes, Drayan cast an inquiring gaze in Lana’s direction, even as Lana tapped her comm unit to connect the three Sith into the conversation.

 “Yes. I’ve patched them in.”

 “ _Great_ ,” started the new voice, “ _I’m Koth Vortena. Welcome to the most suicidal rescue mission in history. Hope you’re everything Lana said you were_.”

 “Be patient, Koth. We’re on our way.” With a click, the comm channel disconnected. “Koth will fly us out of here, just as soon as we’re through this door.”

 Metal strained, motors burning themselves out against the Force, and with a _crunch_! the doors slid open under Dan’s will. “Go. _Now_.”

 Saigra darted through first, followed by Lana. Drayan pushed forward, nose wrinkling at the stink of Zakuulan technology destroying itself---and followed by Dan’ielle as the doors slammed back closed.

 Already, Lana and Saigra were deflecting blasterfire, and the Wrath took one opportune second to launch herself forward; once more into the fray.

* * *

 

  _The Deathspeaker_

 

The Force bends to her will, dancing from her fingertips to caress her allies in shields formed of lightning, mending burns and working the carbon sickness out the way one would work a knot out of muscle.

 Over the comms comes Koth’s voice, somewhat strained (and in the background Saigra can hear blasterfire), “ _Hope you’re not too close yet_!”

 “What’s happening?” snapped Lana, blade driving through another skytrooper with as much ease as had it been a human being.

 “ _Nothing I can’t handle, but we need to move the pickup._ ”

  _Wonderful_. “We don’t have time for this.” Saigra stated, lightning leaving her hands in a crack that caught a skytrooper between the optics.

 “ _Well, if I land now, I’ll be shot to pieces. So think of it as a personal favor to me, okay? Duck through another tower; I’ll find you guys_.”

 The zabrak snorts, shaking her head, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 “ _Thanks for the vote of confidence. Koth out_.”

 “We have to move.” Drayan states, shoving the last of the enemy forces into the wall with more kinetic energy than absolutely necessary.

 Booted feet slide back, letting the equally diminutive Sith take point as their group of four advance.

 Metal shakes underfoot, a sure sign of Vaylin hunting them and destroying everything in her path to reach her prey. It sent a spike up Saigra’s spine (fear, she noted absently) as they left the building and broke into a run across painfully exposed walkways. If they weren’t fleeing for their lives at this very moment, Saigra supposed that she might find some of Zakuul pretty.

 The doors ahead are not given time to hiss open (locked though they were, in retrospect), instead, metal hissing as blade is put through it, dragged down in search of the locking mechanisms as Lana and Dan reach out, sinking their grasp into the doors and _pulling_.

 Pursuing skytroopers reach a firing position, and Saigra turns, throws a shield up, bracing one foot back for the inevitable fire coming towards them as the three Sith behind her pry open the doors.

 Blaster bolts hit her shield and vanish, coming far short of their targets. Good.

 Doors wrench open, squealing in protest, and then her feet are pulled off the ground, heart leaping into throat as she struggles to contain her instinct to lash out. Landing in a heap, barrier collapsing as her focus falls apart, Saigra groans as the doors slam shut again (though the gods awful squealing stopped as a result).

 They only had enough time to regroup--only enough time for the zabrak healer to brush the faintest of Force touches across them to soothe injuries--before the building itself began to shake, transparisteel windows above shattering as debris is launched into them, through them.

 “ _Lana! Did you just charge headfirst into a skytrooper production facility_?”

 “We’re out of options, Koth.”

 “ _This is Altair III all over again….._ ”

 “We can handle a few droids.” Dan’ielle’s words were more confident than her posture, left arm cradled close to her body. A compound fracture, guessed Saigra, too complex to handle in the field like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lana is... interesting to write. Not my usual style at all, but I hope I captured her voice well enough.  
> I did give some of her in-game lines to other characters, though mostly so Lana isn't being the Definitive voice of knowledge like she has to be in-game.


	5. The Outlander: Five Years?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana, Dan'ielle, Drayan, and Saigra must fight their way off Zakuul... or at least to Koth Vortena; their pilot and Lana's partner in crime.

* * *

 

_The Inquisitor_

 

Alarms blare, an automated voice over embedded speakers. _Catastrophic reactor failure imminent_.

 Shit. 

Koth’s voice broke in again, comms crackling to life slower than normal. Dan attributed it to probable interference from the reactor itself, “--- _at thing blows, it’s taking a whole lot of people with it. You can still shut it down!_ ”

 “We don’t have time!” Lana protested.

 “And if we let it blow, we’re going out with it.” Dan’ielle strode forward, gaze fixed on the console.

 “I hope you know what you’re doing…” Lana muttered, shaking her head as she followed along.

 The whole building shakes as the reactor destabilized further, manufactured lightning striking from one point to another--a blast shattering the transparisteel behind the console… and another frying the console itself.

  _Shit_.

 Stepping back from the console, the Inquisitor surveyed the area outside, searching for the manual override panels. They can’t be much different from Imperial designs if the Zakuulans held true to the other mechanisms she’d had to go through thus far.

 Drayan steps to her side, “There,” and points out toward a small console tucked into the reactor itself. “We’re going outside if we’re going to shut this down at all.”

 “Split up.”

 Drayan nods, taking two steps back before launching herself out the open window.

 “Saigra, please be ready to pull people back if it comes down to that.” Dan’ielle doesn’t spare much of a glance at the Zabrak before she turns to run--just enough to catch Saigra’s nod. “And Lana, if you could please get the last console? I believe there were three.”

 “This is a bad idea, Lady Nox.”

 “It’s a worse idea to charge out there with no idea of how long we’d have until it blew.”

 

* * *

 

_The Advisor_

 

Lana exhaled forcefully, pushing aching muscles forward, calling on the Force to numb them--to provide her strength. Through the corner of her eye, she could spot the Wrath and the Wrath’s ever-present shadow of a healer, advancing down two separate walkways.

 This was a horrible idea.

 Lightning forked down at her feet and Lana leapt, clearing the metal catwalk in a bid to reach the console ahead of her before either she or the electronics were fried.

 To her side, red hands slam into the plating, fingers curving into claws as Saigra hauled herself to her feet.

 Attention returns to her own target; screen flickering wildly from interference and the readings from the reactor itself.

 She maintained that this was a horrible idea.

 Gloved hand taps the screen, rerouting the power and beginning the shutdown sequence--something that would need to be duplicated and confirmed at the other stations.

 Lightning strikes behind her, and the metallic crump of skytroopers eating electricity reached her ears. Quite satisfying, she had to admit, though only to herself.

 The second station checks in, confirming the request to shut down (the static in the air lessens, but still crawls over her skin).

 Seconds stretch into forever before the third station confirms, and only then does Lana turn.

 The reactor was shutting down… and yet the skytroopers come at them, blasters firing erratically and inaccurate.

 “ _Move_!” Armored feet sail over Lana’s head, followed by an lighter armored body--dark hair flying and lightsaber ignited. Lana felt the need to duck despite that the Wrath had already passed over her and had landed ahead.

 Zakuul was bleeding broken skytroopers, and still more came. Demanded, ordered, by Vaylin herself.

 The loudspeakers begin broadcasting an automated voice, and Lana has never been so relieved to hear it.

  _Shutdown sequence initiated. Warning: grid integrity at risk_.

 “It’s time to go!” she yells, reaching out to Lady Nox through the Force despite the audible warning they all could hear.

 The Force wraps around her with all the care of a child putting their favorite toy to rest, and pulls. The Lady Nox’s doing, she assumed, as her body sails through the broken transparisteel window just behind the Wrath and the Wrath’s shadow.

 “The dark should help cover our escape.” remarks Nox as she relinquishes her grip on the three.

 “Yes, though not as well as an explosion would have. It will do.” Raising her commlink, Lana stepped forward, “Koth. Where are you?”

 

* * *

 

_The Deserter_

 

Oh, well, that was fantastic. Their ride out---his ship… in flames. And now Lana was paging him.

 “Ran into… sorta a maintenance issue.”

 “ _How bad is it?_ ”

  _How bad is it_ , she asks. Koth frowned, turning on his heel to survey the damage. It was a karking disaster is what it was. “It’s not great, but we’re on top of it.”

 Even as he says as much, boots clatter on the nearby platform; Zakuulan soldiers. Flesh and blood. None of those skytrooper droids… “Give us, mm, three minutes?”

 Rifle settles in his hands--this would be a rough fight, but if he could make it to that Zakuul shuttle he could see… well, that would do. It wasn’t his _ship_ , but he could fly it. “Hang tight. Hope you’re not scared of the dark.”

 The snort conveyed across the comms was most certainly _not_ Lana.

 “ _We’ll be here. Do what you have to do._ ”

 

* * *

 

_The Inquisitor_

 

Closing the connection, Lana sighs and shakes her head. “Let’s find a place to lie low and--”

 Drayan cut her off, “Not an option. We’ve got Knights incoming.”

 “Three minutes. Right.” Lana sighed and turned to face their enemies--skytroopers closing rank ahead of two well-built Zakuulan Knights.

 The first skytroopers are knocked off the platform, lightning arcing from one to another to prevent them from simply jetting back up, and the four Sith press forward. They can’t stay there any longer in any case.

 “So much for the cover of darkness,” joked Dan, swinging her lightsaber to deflect the first few bolts before Drayan dove in.

 “Vaylin is nothing if not persistent.” answered Lana, humor tinging the otherwise flat answer. Any further conversation was cut short by the two Knights.

 “ _Outlander_!”

 An amused look is shared between Drayan and Saigra. _Whomever_ did he mean to address?

 “You are guilty of assassinating the Immortal Emperor and evading imprisonment.”

 “We _demand_ your immediate surrender!”

 “You call him _Immortal_ , and call us guilty of assassinating him in the same breath.” Drayan retorted, face carefully neutral but her amusement radiating in the Force.

 And yet the Knights do not hesitate. “You are a wanted fugitive. Surrender now!”

 “And if we do not?”

 “Take them by force!” The Knights lunge forward, the first met by Drayan’s blade and the second by Lana’s.

 Even as their armor redirects some of the lightning dancing from Dan’s fingertips, it cannot withstand a lightsaber’s pressure for long, cracking beneath Drayan’s onslaught… and soon Lana’s as well.

 The second Knight jumps, launching himself out of reach, and calling to his partner even as he turns tail. “Tanek! Run! We’ll fight another day!”

 Yet before he can, the remaining Knight--Tanek--is gripped by the throat, raised helplessly into the air. “You Knights… you’re never taught to properly channel your anger.”

 With a twist of Lana’s wrist, the Knight falls limp, neck snapped as easily as Lana would deactivate her blade.

 The walkway shakes beneath them, the section just a handful of steps away falling free, plummeting into the empty air.

 A chill shoots up Dan’s spine, and she turns.

 “Vaylin.”

 Good to see that Lana had come to the same conclusion. Of course, seeing Vaylin there had nothing to do with it, but that was beside the point.

 Lightsabers ignite; three red and one in violet, stances readying for the inevitable fight as Vaylin approaches with a skytrooper contingent.

 The walk shook again, and Dan feared that it would collapse beneath them--or at least, that it might without Vaylin’s help; already from what she’d seen of the woman, Vaylin would not be content with watching them plummet.

 “ _Heads down, eyes open, run like hell_!”

 Lana and Dan turn first, letting Drayan hold the line. Red lightsaber blurs as blasterfire streaked toward them and the ship commandeered by Koth. That is, until the blasters on the ship itself begin to fire, covering their retreat.

 Drayan deactivates her blade, turning and running for the open ramp.

 

* * *

 

_The Wrath_

 

Vaylin’s makeshift shield is launched at the ship with enough force to shake it. Drayan’s leap turns into a desperate scramble to find grip on the ramp. Gold and black digits reach down, cold metal finding warm skin and providing both the leverage and assistance she desperately needed.

 “Declaration: meatbags can’t fly.”

 The ramp seals as her feet reach the deck, and she moves forward to the cockpit as Saigra sits down. They’re all weary; even this rest was better than none.

 “---a _little_ engine trouble.” Koth’s voice cuts into her exhausted daze, followed by a minor explosion that sends the ship shaking. “Okay, a _lot_.”

 “You do know what you’re doing?”

 Koth’s indignation poured into the Force at the comment, “ _Hi_. You’re welcome, by the way.”

 Lana cut Drayan off before the Wrath could say anything else. “Get us out of here, Koth.”

 “Trying to.” 

Alarms flood the small ship; targeting locks from the gun batteries below. And yet, as abruptly as they started, the alarms shut off, followed by a triumphant whistle belonging to a T7 series astromech. 

The ship leveled out now that it was no longer taking fire, and the relief was palpable.

 “I told you we’d succeed.”

 “You left out the part where I’d lose my ship.”

 “Lana, I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but the Emperor… killed Darth Marr.” Dan spoke softly, as if afraid to disrupt the calm they flew through.

 “Yes,” Lana begins, “his absence has been felt by many.”

 “For quite some time, right?” added Koth, “It’s going to be a short ride; might want to start briefing your friends here on what’s been going on the last five years.” He hardly pauses before addressing the HK unit that had pulled Drayan up not five standard minutes prior, “Make yourself useful and check the stabilizers.”

 Drayan blinks, glancing over at Lana before finally asking the question lingering in everyone’s minds, “Five _years_?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully the individual voices of the characters are easy enough to pick out here. It's crossposted on Fanfiction.net under the penname Grayson's Redoubt.


End file.
